


The Percabeth Trials: The Hidden Hero

by X_Gon_Give_It



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan, The Trials of Apollo - Rick Riordan
Genre: AU of Trials of Apollo, Blind!Annabeth, Blood, Curses, Deadpool-au(ish), F/M, M/M, Meg and Apollo come in later, Other, Violence, alternate ending to Blood of Olympus, arai - Freeform, big stuff is going on, cursed!Percy, mercenary!Percy, powerful demigods, probably gore too, scarred!Percy, service dog!Mrs. O'Leary, this is NOT a betrayed!Percy fic, ties in with Magnus Chase too, will be continued
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-02-07 10:20:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12839139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/X_Gon_Give_It/pseuds/X_Gon_Give_It
Summary: A shooting pain tears through my side. I gasp around the feeling of an arrow shooting through my ribs. Likely the same one I shot through Geryon on his ranch. Its phantom point is lodged somewhere deep inside, the shaft impaling through bone as if they're made of thin ice. Breathing gets harder the more air I try to suck in, and I think I can feel something warm and wet filling up the empty spaces of my lungs. Drowning me.I want Camp back. I want my friends back. I want my mom. And Paul. And Chiron. And Blackjack. And my cabin. And Riptide. And Annabeth.I want my Annabeth._____________________________________________________________________The war with Gaia did not go as planned. The demigods were not defeated, this is true, but that doesn't mean all of them won.In a terrible twist of fate, Gaia unleashed the Arai on the Greek and Roman camps. Many are hurt, but none as much as too specific demigods.Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase will never be the same again.(Alternate ending to the Blood of Olympus; ties in with The Trials of Apollo and Magnus Chase)





	1. Shattered Glass

**Chapter set during the final battle against Gaia in "Blood of Olympus"**

Percy (POV)

You know, today would've been a nice day. It was warm outside, there was a nice breeze blowing through, and the smell of strawberries and saltwater was wonderful and heavy in the air. However, I was beginning to smell less of the sweet strawberries and more of the sour pungent of monster slime.

But the fight against Gaea was going pretty well, you know, considering all things.

Of course, personally, I wish I never HAD to fight Gaea, you know the  _EARTH goddess_ , on a beautiful day like today, and not just because she happened to have a whole army of crazed, blood-lusting monsters at her disposal. Though I'll admit, that was a very big downside to my otherwise horrible situation.

But, you know, it was going fairly well all the same.

Sounding a loud battle cry, I charged an ogre swinging an ax the size of my body at my head. Now, I know what you're thinking:  _Percy, we don't run TO the ax. We run AWAY from it_. But don't worry, it's okay. I do this a lot.

I deflected the strike of the ax off the side of my blade, which gave me an open shot at the ogre's bulging belly. See, I told you I know what I'm doing. Seconds later, I was gingerly wiping residue monster gunk off of Riptide with the ogre's greasy loincloth. Not the most glamorous spoils of war, but considering my head was still attached, I wasn't going to complain. Nearby, Annabeth was engaged in battle with an evil centaur. I didn't like to fight those guys, they reminded me too much of our good, coffee-smelling centaur teacher, Chiron. I know Annabeth didn't like to either, I could see it in the furious gleam in her eyes, but she knew it had to be done. We both did.

Her blonde hair was tied into a messy bun on her head, and she wore a ripped and dirty Camp Half-blood tee under hastily, but professionally, strapped chest plating. She stood in front of the centaur, legs boxed and tensed, and waited for an opening. Blowing a stray strand of hair out of her face, she feigned a dive to the right, before swinging back to the left. The centaur fell for it, hitting the ground with his club where her head might've been, before whinnying in alarm when he realized he made a mistake. With a warrior's cry, she lunged upward and plunged her drakon bone sword deep into the centaur's chest. The club was dropped on the ground as the monster crumbled away into dust. Annabeth grimaced and shook monster dust out of her hair as she wiped the remaining monster gook from her sword onto her jeans.

 _Di immortals_  she looked stunning when she annihilated the enemy.

I was snapped out of my musing by the thundering charge of another ogre, perhaps the buddy of the one I'd just killed, as it came running at me with a hammer aligning with my head. The hammer came down. I forced myself to wait a second more before diving out of the way, doing a tuck and roll so I landed on the monster's unguarded flank. The ogre looked at the crop of grass he crushed with a surprised, "Huh?" before he joined his pal in the monster underworld.

Despite almost having my head crushed in, I grinned. I turned to Annabeth, who also had a smile on her face. Cause we were crazy like that.

"Good to be home," I said.

"Sure is."

We charged into battle again.

I would've loved to sit down in the grass to chat, or relax on the beach and catch up with my Camp Half-Blood friends after being gone for nearly two years -  _yeah, thanks, Hera_  - but that was a reunion I would have to save for later. That's what happened when you crashed a battle mid-fight. But I suppose I could always do some catching up while I worked.

I ended up face to face a cynocephali (two-headed men with 3X the stink) next to an old frenemy of mine. "Welcome back Prissy." Clarisse briefly greeted, before screaming with the might and fury of Ares and plunged Maimer into the head of a cyclops. We liked screaming around here.

Ignoring the nickname, I replied, "Glad to be back." before jabbing at the cynocephali, unsuccessfully.

She faced off against an ogre. "About time you got here." she criticized, dodging a sword strike before literally punching the ogre in the face. She didn't sound angry though. I shrugged, knocking the feet out from under the cynocephali before separating from one of its heads.

"Sorry I was late," I snarked, "I must've lost track of time fighting giants in Greece."

She gave a small, breathy chuckle before our fights led us away from each. With each new opponent I faced, I saw others of my Camp. Katie Gardner strangling a Cyclops with a some rose bush vines, the Hermes twins-but-not-twins Connor and Travis who were alternating between stabbing monsters with swords and shooting them with spiked, celestial bronze BB's, and Chris Rodriguez who was pulverizing a group of drachnea with his sword, among others.

Up on Half-Blood Hill, Will Solace was deviating from helping injured half-bloods and warding monsters off with arrows. Nico Di Angelo wasn't far off, with his obsidian blade cutting through monsters in an arc of black and death, leaving a trail of monsters spoils and gunk in his wake.

So, like I said, the battle was going fairly well.

Off to the side, the Hermes cabin rallied around Jason. He and Connor exchanged a few care-free words, small smiles on both faces ending up on both faces. From over the ruckus of battle, Reyna's powerful voice rose above all else, yelling, " _Eiaculare flammas!"_  and in response a wave of fire-tipped areas shot past the legions wall of shields, disintegrating a large cluster of ogres.

Somewhere down the hill of Camp Half-Blood, Frank yelled as well, "Repellere equites!" followed by a massive cry of panic from evil centaurs as the Roman legions' other three cohorts appeared behind the unsuspecting monster's flank. Hazel was somewhere on the left riding Arion, slashing at enemies as her horse trampled them underfoot.

Reyna and Frank exchanged a few words, soon after I heard "Legion, CLOSE RANKS!" from Frank. The Romans cheered as they all grouped together into one fine-working machine of destruction. Frank pointed his sword forward and the golden eagle - the exact same one he, Hazel, and I saved - crackled with electricity taking out several hundred monsters in one go.

I'll hand it to the Romans. What they lacked in creative diversity they made up for in monster annihilation.

Somewhere along the hill, the Greeks from Camp Half-Blood were reuniting as well. I caught Annabeth's eye from across the battlefield. We smiled and both ran to join them. As I ran, slashing and dodging monsters, Reyna shouted, "Legion, cuneum formate! Advance!" It was in that moment that Annabeth and I joined our fellow greeks.

Camp Half-Blood all cheered as we joined their ranks. Standing there, I figured since Reyna and Frank, leaders of Rome, were encouraging their troupes, then I was obligated to as well. Good leadership and all that.

"Greeks!" I shouted at the top of my lungs, grabbing all their attention. "Let's, um," I scrambled for something inspiring to say,"fight stuff!"

Okay, so it wasn't like my speech during the Battle of Manhattan, nor was it some fancy order in Greek, but it did the trick. Camp Half-Blood roared with raucous approval and together we charged, probably looking and sounding like a bunch of wailing banshee children. But the monsters look freaked out, so it was definitely worth it.

Aw, how I missed this place.

After that, our advantage only grew. Everywhere I looked, monsters were being over-run or chased down as we fought to defend our home. Camp Half-Blood has survived for centuries, there was no way it was going to see the end today. Even the Romans, despite this Camp not being their home, fought with the enthusiasm of a greek to protect the Camp. It was, admittedly, kind of inspiring.

Unfortunately, I should've known it wasn't going to last. We half-bloods have a reputation for having bad luck. And soon enough, the other boot dropped. The ground beneath our feet shivered, before rippling like water and causing everyone – half-bloods, and monster alike – to tumble to the ground.

 _"AWAKE_ ," the definitely-not-still-asleep voice of Gaea boomed all around, resonating through the hills, trees, and grass-like one megasonic microphone. On the crest of a hill, dirt and grass trembled as it rose up, swirling and whirling in the air like a tornado at such a speed that hearing over the scraping of rocks, sand, and trees was almost impossible. Dirt came together to solidify into the figure of a woman, towering about twenty-feet in height. Her dress was woven from millions of strands of grass, her skin became pale and white from the quartz rock gathered from the ground and her hair grew dark in the tangled curls of roots. " _Little fools,_ " Gaea spat, as a beautiful face was molded into the quartz. Her eyes opened, practically glowing a pure green as if she had sucked the very color from the plants at her feet. " _The paltry magic of your statue cannot contain me."_

My eyes flickered over to the giant statue of Athena, Annabeth's mom. I'll be honest, I hadn't really noticed Gaea's absent until now. But I had no doubt that it had something to do with the statue. Athena had a way of warding people off.

Gaia's words spread like a disease. Pure, unaltered fear shivered through the army of half-bloods, both Greek and Roman. Nor did I didn't blame them. Just looking up at Gaia, I was struck with the memory of a different primordial-being looming above me with the intent to hurt and kill. It was in sharp detail that I recalled the feel of my heart stopping, my lungs refusing to work under the immense power crushing it, nor could I ever forget the way my sword had slipped from my fingers as all I could do was gaze up in terror.

Shame, just as I felt before, burned inside me for doing such a thing. Almost unconsciously, I clenched my fist around the hilt of my sword tighter, refusing to do the same thing twice. Even so, my knees were knocking in fright at the sight of Gaia. The sheer overwhelming feel of her power was enough to leave any half-blood wide-eyed and frozen, like a deer in headlights. Somewhere over the ground came Piper's voice, "Stand fast!" Her charmspeak washed over the crowds like a warm, reassuring hug that snapped most of us out of our stupor. "Greeks and Romans, we can fight her together!"

 _Yeah!_  I found myself agreeing.  _Who cares that she's big, and tall, and powerful, and made up of the entire Earth! We got this!_

But all Gaia did was laugh, as if the very thought was nothing but an amusing joke. She spread her arms wide and the Earth constricted and leaned toward her. Tree's tilted, soil ripped from the ground, and rocks tumbled. Tree and plant nymphs screamed in terror and rushed to abandon their homes. But the ones who were not quick enough were crushed beneath falling rocks and tree. Horror-stricken, I wanted to look away from the gruesome scene, but all I could do was stare and wonder in growing horror if Juniper, a friend of mine and girlfriend to my best friend, was among the crushed dead. Bile soured my tongue.  _No, she's HAS to be fine. Juniper HAS to be okay._

Something hot and angry grew. Teeth gritting, I stepped forward to run and help the nymphs, but, instead, found my feet sinking past into the ground. The soil at my feet had softened and was now sucking me in. A cry of panic arose from the other half-bloods too, and I deduced the same was happening to them. Even the monsters were trapped. They growled and swiped at the dirt, a few even glared up at Gaia like ' _Hey lady, we're on YOUR side!'_

" _The whole earth is my body!_ " Gaia cried, sweeping her arms around. " _How would you fight the goddess of—_ " a flash of bronze came streaking by, and grabbed Gaia, carrying her off the hillside. I paused, momentarily stunned. The ground stopped inhaling teenagers and monsters, but for the moment all I could do was look up at Festus who was soaring higher and higher in the sky with Gaia in his talons. A grin grew on my face and I let out a loud whooped. Above, Festus spewed fire in excitement.

Leo sat on top of him, grinning madly. "Pipes! Jason!" he shouted, barely heard from his immense height. "You coming? The fight is up here!" eyes widening, I quickly realized what he was referring too and I dug myself out of, literally, my own grave. I spotted Jason and Piper across the field. Around me, monsters worked on digging themselves out too, albeit faster than the half-bloods were, so I slashed at any I came across as I ran.

By the time I got to the end of the field, Jason already has his arm around Piper ready to lift off. "Wait!" I yelled. "Frank can fly the rest of us up there! We can all—"

"No, man," Jason interrupted gently. "They need you here. There's still an army to defeat. Besides, the prophecy—"

"He's right." Frank appeared behind me, his voice was firm but gentle, even so, I felt his hand come up to grip my arm tightly as if to hold me down from flying at Gaia myself. "You have to let them do this, Percy. It's like Annabeth's quest in Rome. Or Hazel at the Doors of Death. This part can only be them."

I didn't like it, and they knew I didn't too. The 7, we were a team. We were ALL brought together to defeat Gaea, not just Jason, Piper and Leo. Besides, those three might need help! This was a primordial we were talking about. If a whole army of half-bloods didn't have a good chance against Gaia, what did three have? And if that wasn't enough, I wanted to personally give Gaia a Poseidon sized stab in the head for what she did to the nymphs.

I wanted to argue. The words were already piling in my throat, but before I could let them loose, a flood of monsters swept over the half-bloods.

"Hey! Problem over here!" Annabeth shouted, and I decided to let Jason and Piper go. I wanted to argue, I wanted to refuse to stay on the ground when there were bigger fish to fry up in the talons of Festus. But I didn't. As much as I wanted to be there for Jason, Piper, and Leo, I wanted to be there for Annabeth more. I ignored the breath of relief from the four behind me as I kicked up dirt running in the direction of Annabeth. She was still stuck in the dirt but had stopped digging herself out to defend against an approaching Hellhound. I ran up behind the giant dog and raked my sword across its back, with one agonized howl it exploded into dust.

"Thanks," Annabeth said, spitting monster dust from her mouth. I smiled back, still feeling sorry for not going with Jason and Piper, but ignoring it enough to help dig her out.

"What are boyfriends for?"

Annabeth rolled her eyes, but quickly caught sight of Jason and Piper flying up to me Leo. I followed her gazes, nerves gnawing at my stomach like gnashing teeth. Grimacing, I held Riptide tighter in my hand. "Hey," she said, drawing my attention back to her. Her grey eyes were warm against mine, her smile soft and reassuring. "They got this. It's gonna be okay. They've got the cure, remember?"

I nodded. "Yeah," I tore my eyes away from the sky. "yeah okay. Come on Wise Girl, we got an army to defeat." Annabeth gave me another reassuring smile, this time with a rushed peck me on the cheek.

"Let's go, Seaweed Brain, let's show these monsters what happen when you mess with Camp Half-Blood."

I raised Riptide, "They won't even know what hit them." I promised, allowing determination to momentarily push my nerves aside. I met my girlfriends faze with a smirk growing "Bet I can kill more than you!"

"Oh, it's on!" Annabeth shouted. We both ran to help the half-bloods still stuck in the dirt, killing monsters and warding off attacks as we went.

* * *

 

_________________________                        ∆                        _______________________

* * *

 

The monsters numbers were steadily depleting.

Despite Gaia's official rise and nearly sucking the entire demigod army into the ground, the Camps were back up, pumping with adrenaline and wielding their weapons with renewed vigor. With Frank and Reyna working alongside Annabeth and I to command the demigods, we became the perfect union of Roman and Greek; two types of demigods brought together into one harmonized weapon of monster killing power. We no longer fought each other, but as one; protecting our lives, our friends, and our home.

Up with the fight against Gaea, it was a whirlwind of air, fire, and shrapnel. The spiraling cyclone was dark with black soil and purple-grey clouds, stretching far up in the sky, towering over everything and sending a dark, foreboding shadow across the entire battlefield. Jagged bursts of stray lightning lit up the tornado at random, sending sudden bursts of light across the field as thunder roared so loud it rattled the ground. Or maybe that was just Gaia trying to reconnect with her element, I wasn't sure.

The wind around the cyclone was intense, and tore at loose articles of clothing and flung hair or the occasional leaf into faces. The lightning, while somewhat beautiful and awe-inspiring, was bright and distracting, sometimes blinding people who weren't quick enough to look away; thunder drowned out the agonized shouts and cries of war, popping ears and ringing in heads. I squinted past the wind blowing in my eyes and tried to focus on the empousai swiping her claws at me. Her talons snagged on my shirt, but it didn't catch skin. I tucked and rolled to the other side. The empousai followed with a hiss, only right in that moment, lightning tore from the cyclone not too far from us. The empousai wailed and rubbed at her eyes, but by the time she could see again my sword was already lodged in her stomach at the hilt. I was looking up at the cyclone before she completely crumbled to dust. At least the lightning was an advantage to both monster AND half-blood. Occasionally the wall of wind and debris would split, and for just a second I could see Piper and Jason flying around in the air where Festus held-fast onto Gaia, who was flailing and fighting as the dragon shot torrent after torrent of fire on her.

Leo was engulfed in his own flames, raining fire down at the Earth goddess as well. I couldn't help but keep glancing up at them in between fights, pushing sweat and hair out of my eyes to see. It made it harder to kill monsters, but I couldn't stop myself. I wanted to be up there, helping, finally getting rid of Gaia so that maybe – for once – Camp Half-Blood could actually have peace.

And Camp Jupiter, of course, they've been through a lot too.

But, I resigned, cause deep down I knew Frank was right. Only Leo, Piper, and Jason could finally put an end to this war and finish the prophecy; but that didn't mean I wouldn't worry about them. One sentence still kept reoccurring in my mind:  _An oath to keep with a final breathe._

That part of the prophecy was yet to be fulfilled, and whoever it fell on made me very concerned. I didn't think it was me, or Annabeth, nor Frank, Hazel, Piper or even Jason. Leo was the only person I thought of when hearing that line. Leo met Calypso, and I didn't need to be a child of Aphrodite to know there was  _something_  there, I wasn't sure why yet, I felt it was Leo who that line belonged to, and I had a feeling the prophecy was going to officially come true very soon.

 _They have the cure,_  I told myself.  _I'll be okay because they have the cure._

Taking a deep breath, I forced all thinking from my head and allowed my body to react by instinct. I ducked as a sword passed over my head, the air around it whipping a few strands of my hair silently before I fell to my side and kicked the monsters kneecaps as hard as I could. The monster, a small Cyclops, grunted painfully and staggered before stumbling. It caught itself on its knees. Swiftly getting back to my feet, I hit the butt of my sword into the Cyclops wrist, forcing it to drop its weapon, before plunging my sword deep into its chest.

Once the Cyclops was gone, I turned to my next closest enemy. A big Hellhound, about 8 feet tall and 10 feet wide that had pinned a Roman soldier to the ground, whose sword had been flung off to the side close to me. Reacting immediately, I ran forward, scooped up the fallen sword, and shot it at the monster much like a javelin. I wasn't too good at aiming spears or javelins, and don't even get me started with a bow, but the sword did manage to clip the Hellhounds flank, making it to yelp and turn in my direction.

"Here boy…" I shouted, whistling and waving my arms to catch its attention. "Or girl - boy - girl. C'mere you big flea-bag!"

It happily turned away from the Roman kid to stalk toward me.

I eased myself into a defensive position, holding my sword threateningly in front of me. The Hellhound snarled and circled me; its thick fur looked dirty and knotted with blood, as its claws dug trenches in the soft dirt with each step. It made me wonder if Gaia could feel it. I hoped she did.

I raised my sword and took an experimental jab at the over-sized dog. It avoided the attempt with ease, then growled and snapped at me with its giant maw of teeth. Narrowly avoiding its fangs, I spun around and slashed at it again. Riptide managed to slice across the Hellhounds front leg, making a deep gash, but not enough to kill. It glanced down to briefly check it's wound, before glaring back at me. Judging by the extra murderous look in its eyes, I figured it didn't take too well to being cut. Or maybe it just really liked that leg. Either way, it roared murderously and charged. I poised myself, readying to duck away when it got close. But then, right as the Hellhound started running, there was a sudden, extremely bright arc of lightning that raked across my vision.

Hissing sharply, I cursed and blinked rapidly to get rid of the lingering bright dots that speckled my sight. My vision was still dancing the Swan Lake when I managed to catch a glimpse of a dark shape hurtling toward me. An icy snarl filled my ears and I felt something big hit my chest. Hitting the ground knocked the breath out of me, but with instinct, I brought my sword up just as a mouth of wickedly sharp fangs clamped down.

Riptide was lodged in the Hellhounds jaw, angled horizontally with the sides slightly digging into the monster's mouth - which definitely wasn't enough to kill it - while its hind legs kept my legs pinned. We were suddenly locked in a pushing contest with the Hellhound trying to snap its way closer to me, serrated teeth clanging harshly across the blade, while I worked on forcing it away. The hand holding Riptide by the hilt wasn't enough to keep the Hellhound at bay, and I was forced to reach up and grip the celestial bronze blade with my other hand just to keep up with the strength of the monster.

The sharp edge bit into my fingers, slicing the skin enough for a stream of blood to pool on the blade and drip down on the grass by my shoulder. I grit my teeth, bullying the stinging sensation into a corner of my mind while pushing back with all my might.

But it still wasn't enough to give me leverage. I was stuck.

The Hellhound was getting more aggressive as our struggle continued, now swinging its head around and chomping down on the blade with renewed vigor. Its own blood dripped from the corners of its mouth onto my shirt. I looked around desperately for anything or anyone that could help, but there was nothing there for me either. Everyone else was too busy handling their own monsters, or the monsters were too busy handling their own half-blood.

Which meant I was stuck AND alone.

Great.

Wrestling with the Hellhound was beginning to seriously wear me down. My arms shook with the strain, and the claws digging into my legs were hardly helpful. I'm wasn't sure how much longer I could fight back.

But just as my arms almost gave out, the Hellhound suddenly froze, before combusting into a flurry of dust, all of which rained down piling on me like the worlds most disgusting mound of kitty-litter. Grimacing, I spit up monster remains and I glanced up to see my rescuer.

It was the Roman kid I saved earlier; he had retrieved his sword and was now holding it tightly in his hand with a bit of monster slime coated the tip. He offered me a grateful smile and thrust out the opposite hand, which I happily took. "Thanks for the save," I told him.

The kid shrugged, "Thank  _you_  for the assist."

We gave each other one last grateful look, before splitting ways. I didn't even take a few steps before Gaia's annoying voice was booming out, " _YOU CANNNOT DEFEAT ME!_ " I looked up at the cyclone again. It had intensified drastically while I was in the tussle with the Hellhound, now swirling with more detrimental vigor. Lightning arced in the sky crazily, tendrils of energy whipped around, striking the sky like its only purpose was to rip it to shreds.

_"I AM ETERNAL!"_

Clutching my sword tighter, I forced myself to look away again and just keep fighting. Leo, Jason, and Piper could do this; I had to have faith in them. Bracing myself for another attack, I hefted my sword and charged an ogre.

Only, the fight above with Gaia only got more intense. The goddess was yelling and screaming things now. " _FOOLISH CHILDREN!_ " and not far after that was " _SILENCE!_ " I figured it was either Leo's taunts that were riling her up, or Piper was using charmspeak again. At hearing Gaia scream with frustration and anger a smile found its way on my face–  _Welcome to my life for nearly a year now,_  I thought, directing it to the ground and hoping Gaea somehow heard.

" _LIES_!" Gaea screeched this time. Her voice was getting more sluggish and tired; internally a spark of hope rose. We were so close, so close to this being over, so close for this war to finally come to an end after months of tirelessly working and fighting against her.

" _I – YOU DO NOT SPEAK FOR ME_  –" Gaea was yelling, her voice getting softer and weary. " _NO – NO YOU CANNOT_  –" she paused for a moment, and despite the roaring of the wind, it was tantalizingly quiet. Then, as if realizing that she was doomed, Gaia cried out with the last of her consciousness. " _YOU WON'T WIN SO EASILY! ATTACK! ATTACK NOW!_ "

"Easily?!" I demanded. "As if!" Then paused. Everything seemed eerily still.

Suddenly a wispy flapping sound whispered over the cyclone, like a dozen legion flags snapping in the wind. A cold, cruel laugh drifted out among the battlefield like ice and I shivered, despite myself. There was something oddly familiar about it in a way that turned my blood to glass.

The battle had stopped. I noticed as monsters hefted up their weapons, but they didn't look threatened, in fact, they looked almost excited. A few Hellhounds snarled in amusement and backed up a few steps as if to make room. I brought up my sword uneasily. A collection of chuckles coiled in the air and a chill raced down my spine. Around me half-bloods eased up in a defensive position, easily feeling the presence of something sinister approaching.

From across the battlefield, I caught Annabeth's eyes. She looked as skeptical as I did. Our eyes met, and a silent question was passed between us:  _Where have we heard this before_? I hefted my sword and went in a beeline toward her.

I weaved around half-bloods, most giving my curious glances and following my movements with their eyes, but I kept going, needing to reach Annabeth. She would know what to do, she always did. But halfway there I stopped dead in my tracks as I felt a dark sensation creeping along my neck, like something that should be dead was breathing down on my spine. I whirled around but I saw nothing. Swallowing thickly, a deep sense of dread filled the pit in my stomach, and my sword suddenly felt heavier in hand.

Then a soft, barely distinguishable cackle whispered in my ear with sickening glee, " _We are the curses, and we're back."_

Realization hit me harder than the hellhound. Fear, raw and untamed coiled around my core. I looked back at Annabeth and judging by her horrified expression, she must've remembered too. I broke out into a run for her, right as a horrific shadow erupted from the forest on wings of black.

I didn't need to look at them to know what they were. Arai: demons who served the fallen, hellish beings who dished out revenge and pain in the name of monsters who had been slain with a whisper of revenge on their lips. They were wrinkly, winged, and evil hags with leathery batwings and sharp brass talons, they're eyes shone like freshly spilled blood and gleamed with blithe malice. A dress of black silk threaded with the dark souls of evil beings was wrapped around their grey, shriveled bodies.

A whole flock of them swooped from the forest and descended over the half-bloods like a demonic shadow. Cries of fear rose up from the half-bloods as the Arai attacked. It wasn't a big flock, small compared to the one Annabeth, Bob, and I faced down in Tartarus; a rough estimate of about 20, maybe 30.

But when I saw half-bloods raise their weapons to kill this new threat panic stabbed my chest.

"Don't kill them!" I shouted as loud as I could manage, but my order fell on deaf ears. The few Arai went down with a malicious laugh as the half-bloods who killed them gasped as a curse settled on their shoulders.

"Stop!" I yelled, trying to catch as many demigods attention as I could. "DO NOT KILL THEM!"

My hopeless yelling brought the attention of a few Arai to me. " _Percy Jackson,_ " they hissed, flying around me in a tight circle. " _How nice to see you again._ "

I raised my sword as a cold trickle of sweat drizzled down my neck. "Wish I could say the feeling was mutual," I managed to reply, but could barely keep the shake from my voice. The Arai merely hissed in amusement. Their talons glinting with malevolence whenever a streak of lightning tore aggressively at the sky; the demons licked their withered lips, wing flaps increasing with anticipation.

" _So many curses that still linger over you, so many dead monsters who wish to see you burn_." One cackled.

" _But there is one even our Master wishes to inflict on you_." Another piped up behind me, I whirled around to face her. I hated being surrounded, anywhere I turned I knew I had one to my back. "Master?" I questioned, "Uh, I'm sorry but I'm not supposed to associate with servants of the dead till I'm 20. Come back in a few years and then we'll talk, kay?"

" _Not so fast half-blood_ ," an Arai to my left scolded, of which I wanted to snap that I had nowhere to go. " _Our Master doesn't do well with escapees_ ,  _not when they leave unscathed and unbroken_."

Unscathed? I glared at her in disbelief, and for a minute I wanted to point out that Annabeth and I were definitely scathed when we left Tartarus. But the Arai lunged at me, aiming her claws at my chest.

I rolled to the side as another dived down, " _Why do you fight son of Poseidon_?" the one in front of me demanded. " _You have already tasted the bitterness of the monsters you've hurt, why must you fight and make it harder? Give up and accept your fate, murderer!"_

Murderer? I was no murderer. Monsters…they hunted half-bloods, they killed half-bloods! It wasn't me, or the other campers who sought their blood. We weren't murderers! We were only protecting ourselves.

The Arai snarled, as if hearing my thoughts, " _You half-bloods have hunted and killed monsters for glory and trophies for eons; some monsters were made to suffer at the hands of you spawns! Stop resisting, realize what you've done, and rightly receive your punishment! Both you and that girl must get what's coming to you._ "

Annabeth. At the mention of her, I glanced around. Past the Arai in front of me, and the chaos around, I saw Annabeth's blonde ponytail bob among the crowds as she warded off a horde of Arai of her own. She had several cuts on her arms where talons had slashed her, but she seemed to have avoided getting any curses.

I couldn't let them hurt her again! Seeing Annabeth helpless and blind had been more painful than any curse they could've put on me. I needed to group up with her. Together, we can take them down. But there was no escaping this rings of Arai, not without a little pain. With a shout of fury, I slashed at the Arai in front of me. The heavy weight of a curse fell on my chest, and I felt the first few stabs of pain hit my body instantly, like a volley of arrows. But I ignored it, and with an open path, I raced to Annabeth.

However, it wasn't as easy as that. All around me half-bloods and monsters got in the way, as Arai came swooping above with their raspy laughs. Some half-bloods were being ganged up on, getting forced to choose between a monster or a cursed demon. Near me I saw a Roman girl fall to her knees, clawing at her chest as if to pull some imaginary weapon out. Her spear fell and the Hellhound behind her pounced for the kill.

Another flash of pain resonated through my body, as if in repercussions for stress bearing down on me. A spike of agony in my leg brought me to my knees and I was suddenly acutely aware of all the screaming and chaos. Demigods shrieked in pain, others were on the ground, moaning and groaning. I saw monsters jump the defenseless half-bloods, taking them by the throat or tearing them by limbs. My senses all sharpened, till I could practically taste the blood that tainted the air, I could see the death of the battlefield as clear and sharp as glass, I could feel my own pain as the curses pricked under my skin like over-heated cactus needles.

" _Watch your camp whither Son of Poseidon, watch as they all pay the price of their crimes!_ " an Arai hissed behind me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, as the icicle touch of talon grazed the back of my neck. Across the field, I heard Annabeth's scream of fury.

Just like with Misery, I felt that ball of glass in my chest shatter, cutting me with thousands of broken shards. "Enough!" I yelled and turned just as the Arai dove for the kill. The demon stopped in her tracks. With my senses running wild, I felt everything pertaining to my element. The ocean by the beach, the water in the air, the sweat running off the brows of half-bloods, even the microscopic bits of water running through the Arai. Everything had water in it after all.

I glared hatefully as something wild and untamed churned in my gut, wanting to fight and surround and  _destroy_. With a shout of rage, I clenched my hand into a fist and all of the water in the Arai drained out, dripping off her limbs into a puddle on the grass.

The Arai's eye bugged as her skin withered beyond what it was naturally, turning to flakes on her bones. Her mouth fell open as a gasp slipped out. Even so, she managed to meet my eyes and rasp, " _Bear sufferage under the curse of Tartarus, Percy Jackson!_ " before she obliterated into nothing. I turned to the other Arai, feeling an intense weight settle over my soul. It was different than the curses I've had before, yet, familiar with all its prickling sensations. It left me feeling heavier in soul and crazy in mind.

The remaining she-demons squawked in terror and turned to fly off, but I wasn't letting them go so easily. I focused all my energy on their retreating form and did the same to them. They shrieked inhumanely as their bodies withered and dried into dust.

More curses settled on my soul.

I turned back to the battle. The monsters and half-bloods closest to me who bore witness to what I did stared in a mixture of apprehension and horror.

But my body still burned with an untamable energy, and when I looked at them I could feel the water running through their veins too. The demigod's eyes widened in fear at my gaze and the monsters to a wary step back. Up in the sky, the cyclone was beginning to disappear. There was a giant roar, then a fiery explosion of gold and fire lit up the entire sky.

My breathing was heavy, my skin was sweltering, I felt like someone had set fire and acid to the insides of my body and now watched as I slowly burned to ash. It was agonizing as smoke began rolling in waves off my skin, pain licked around every nerve and cell, I felt as if my own body was being drained of all its liquid.

Looking back over the battle-field, with the hands of fire and torment playing with my soul, I felt the sides of my eyes tint red. It was too hot, there was too much pain, too many sensations.

 _Help. I need help_.

My gut surged with power as a new flood of pain overcame me. The ocean on the beach heard my call and bent to my will. A giant wave swelled from the sea, rising and rising past its sandy barriers, making its way past cabins and arenas. It rolled across the ground, barreling through the rocks, trees, and plants to serve me. The water hit monsters and Arai with the force of a raging tsunami, causing many to explode into dust on impact. It hit half-bloods too, but with a much softer pressure, but still enough to carry them away with the tide. Finally, it reached me to. The cool touch of the ocean soothed my body, and chased away ache of the curses, seemed to weaken them, if only slightly.

The sea swallowed me whole and, for a blissful moment, everything was better.

But it wasn't enough and all too soon the waves ceased, leaving the soaked and water-logged remains of a battle behind. The swell of the ocean fell back down, exposing my upper body and lowering to my ankles and agony rippled through me once more. Muscles and tendons were being torn to shred, bones and cartilage were shattering, my blood boiled and burst from the confines of veins. When I glanced down at my skin, it looked blistered and angry.

The pain was so much I couldn't even scream.

I fell to the ground, only vaguely aware of the sputtering of half-bloods as they stumbled to shaky feet.

Water glistened in the grass, coming to life with the colors of gold from the sky. A residue of the explosion still shone brightly against the black clouds shrouding the camp. Gaea, Jason, Piper, and Leo were nowhere to be seen.

But I couldn't find it in me to care. I shriveled on the grass, overcome with my body turning against me. My vision slowly rotted away into black. Faintly, someone shouted my name. For a second, I wanted to answer, but I was already gone.


	2. Chapter 1: On the Job

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who were wondering, yes I am going to be continuing this. I have much planned.
> 
> Thank you for the comments on the last chapter.

 

_Percy POV_

3 years later...

_Up the side of the wall. Through the window. On the rafters._

Peering up the long wall, I adjusted the edge of the leather strap running diagonally across my chest as I reached up to grope the old mortar for handholds. Storm drainpipes and clefts in the crumbling brick became my guide upward as I repeated the three steps to Part 1 of my mission.

_Up the side of the wall. Through the window. On the rafters._

Even with the dark colors of my work clothes, I was grateful for the shadows acting as a personal shield against prying eyes. Otherwise, anyone taking an unorthodox stroll near the old warehouses, or peeping out a window from the building complexes across the street, might've been under the impression that a giant, human-sized spider was scaling the side of the warehouse. But, with the moon hidden behind clouds, there was nothing to obscure my tactic of stealth as I took the wall one handhold at a time.

Making it up to the top window was easier than I expected. Climbing things, in general, was not uncommon in my line of work. But with so many windows facing my direction, the paranoia of being spotted was as thick as the storm clouds keeping me in shadow. But the sound of alarm never came, and with my legs planted and my right arm holding me still, I pushed on the window to slide the pane up, then pulled myself inside. As soon as my foot connected to solid structure, I did a final skeptical glance of left, right, up, and down, before sliding the window shut again.

_Up the side of the wall. Through the window. On the rafters._

The rafters were just above.

Below, foot-steps clucked tightly against the floor.

I paused to inhale a few times, then jumped and pulled myself up, crouched low on the rafter beams, and watched as the first watch-guard turned the corner.

_Part 1 - complete. Step 2: Get to the center of the room. Get Intel. Figure out a plan._

The watch-guard strode across the aisle of packaged boxes, shuffling his gun lightly from hand-to-hand as he made a lazy show of searching for oddities. When nothing filled his standards, he quickened his pace and was turning a bend a small moment later. Standing up, I followed him from the rafters, holding my steps lightly. The softest of scruff noises came off my feet, so much that even I could barely hear them.

I needed to practice my footwork.

Fortunately, the guard wasn't as perceptive. I followed him along the perimeter for several seconds, before breaking off on an intersection and followed a beam to the center of the warehouse. With one hand holding steady on the support-bar, I crouched down and stared at the gang directly below me.

_Step 2: Get to the center of the room - check. Next: Get Intel._

There was a total of 6 member’s participating in the exchange, but that was excluding the two guards watching the perimeter. Based on what was in their hands and the bulges in their clothing, every single one of them was equipped with, at least, one firearm. Out of the 6-clumped group, two stood out predominantly as the leaders.

One was tall, thick, and strung high with muscle. He stood at an intimidating height of nearly 6' ft. tall, barely over the height of his three comrades, donning the typical sleeveless motorcycle jacket of the Bloody Skull gang with the picture of a bloodied human skull impaled on a spike printed on the back. I guessed he was the leader by the way the other two similarly dressed members kept protectively to his side, fingers ghosting over the hilts of their guns as their eyes went seeking out trouble.

The second leader was smaller, with noodle-looking arms beneath a tweed jacket and freshly-ironed khaki pants, while confident in expression, looked extremely out of place among the group. But the two acting guards behind him made up for it with towering heights of 7 ft., and legs carved from concrete and arms sewn up with bowling balls. They were not shy with the heavy assault rifles sitting at ease in their arms.

Shifting my weight, I leaned farther back by the support beam, keeping a healthy distance from any light. I didn't need to see through the mist to know that those two were Cyclops. Anything that big, that tall, and that ugly couldn't be human. Which was odd. Monsters weren't exactly known for staying out of human affairs, in fact, they happened to like selling things to mortals - dangerous explosives, water-beds, drugs, donuts, weapons, cheese n' wieners - but Cyclops tended to lure their dinner in by mimicking voices. Or simply conking their prey on the head with a club, they weren't too picky. The last time I've ever actually seen one act as some sort of bodyguard was years ago at Goode High.

But I didn't think it was meant to dig out any demigods this time. If it was a Cyclops, they were definitely getting some kind of pay out of it. I pushed those thoughts aside, for now, and tuned my ears to the conversation.

"-bring the supply?" the small leader was saying.

The leader of the Bloody Skulls glanced idly at his comrades, languid and jeering, and just out of reach of an eye-roll. "Depends on whether or not you have the loot," he said, shrugging his arms over his chest with quirking lips.

The small leader did roll his eyes, including with it a soft huff, as if irritated. "Yes, yes" he waved his hand impatiently, "you will get your money. Now, as for the herbicides..."

"Let's see the case first."

The small man huffed again, louder this time, but gestured restively to one of the Cyclops bodyguards'. The briefcase on the ground was then tossed at the feet of the gang leader. With eyes steady on the meaty bodyguard, the gang leader nodded to one of his own goons who then reached into his pocket, and a moment later something flashed in the light. The goon tossed the key to the small leader, who caught it easily in one hand.

"All packed up and ready in the truck out back," he said, gesturing for his other gang-brother to take the briefcase. "There shouldn't be problems with the packing. Everything’s in there, as requested."

The small leader nodded, finally looking close to relieved. "Then we'll be on our way," was all he said, before turning and striding toward the back exit. But as he passed, he sent his guards a small nod. Large, feral smiles grew on the Cyclops’s face as they licked their lips, eyes brightening. Whereas, from across the room the gang leader shouted indignantly.

"What the hell kind of scam are you tryin' to pull?" he demanded, throwing the briefcase back on the ground and sending stacks of striped paper scattering across the floor. The small leader didn't turn as he said, "My bodyguards are hungry. You'll see to their dinner tonight."

It wasn't a request.

Before the gang leader could demand what he meant, the two Cyclops thundered forward, guns morphing into giant clubs before my eyes. The gang must've seen something different, as their eyes bugged and they cursed, backing up while drawing their own firearms.

The Cyclops laughed.

_Part 2: Get intel. Check. Come up with a plan._

_Plan will be Part 3: Kill Everyone – starting now._

I grabbed the hilt of the sword over my shoulder while simultaneously dropped down from the beam, right as the first Cyclops aligned below me. The sword sunk deep into the monster's skull, and with all my strength and weight, I pushed downward and continued my descent to the ground. The sword cut through the thick hide of the monster, slicing open its face, throat, chest, and belly, before I landed in a tuck and roll, pulling the blade from the monsters packed frame, and stopped on one knee in front of the gang leader. The Cyclops was gone and replaced with a pile of dust.

Silence hung over the warehouse. I didn't pause to say hi, or compliment their weapon choice. Whirling around, I lunged for the second Cyclops, bracing myself for the barrage of force I knew was coming.

 _Murderer!_  The voices exploded in my head, filling in like gas from a pump.  _You kill the Cyclops? You inflict pain on a hungry creature? Murderer! MURDERER!_

The second Cyclops stumbled back at my strike, confusion rapidly building into rage as he bellowed and charged me with his club. The voices shrieked at me as I raised my sword to defend myself. I sidestepped the club, slashing at the monstrous arm right as the weapon was raised again and plunged for my head. I jumped back, scowling when the heavy club cracked the floor centimeters from my toes, and lunged forward, sweeping my sword in a wide, strong arc at the monster's hand. The club thumped to the floor, a giant meaty fist still clutching the shaft, as the Cyclops wailed and pulled his snubbed arm close to his chest.

 _Look at the pain you inflict!_  The voices seethed.  _Look at what you've done! YOU MONSTER! How dare you!_

They shoved and elbowed my thoughts for a chance up front, but I pushed back stubbornly by shooting forward with a yell and plunging my sword deep into the gut of the Cyclops, grim satisfaction pulling up my lips when the voices wailed in reproach. My sword was freed from the body as the monster disintegrated into piles of dust, mingling in with the dust cluster of his pal.

The voices wailed and screamed at me, spitting obscene words like acid. The weight of their tone filled my head, pushing my satisfaction away to make room for an ache rooting deep in my temples. I grimaced, knowing full and well I would have a terrible headache tonight.

Guns clicked at my back. "WHAT the  _shit!_ "

I turned, staring down the black barrel of a gun. The gang leader looked so rattled I wondered what he was seeing through the mist. A random hooligan beating two guys to death with a golf club? A thug with a musket that belonged in the World War I era? I didn't know, but they looked like they would happily beat  _me_  to death with a golf club. I stood up slowly, keeping the point of my sword down so the guy knew I wasn't going to attack...yet. Unfortunately, he didn't seem to know much about swordsman etiquette.

"Drop the gun!" he ordered. I eyed him, then the goons at his sides, both similarly stanced with a gun in hand. They were only mortals. I didn't usually kill them on these missions. Didn't usually have to.

They’re easily immobilized.

I let my sword slip from my hand, and then slowly held them up. The gang didn't relax, one of them stepped forward to kick my sword farther away. I winced as it skittered across the ground, but because of the metal mask obstructing my face, I had a feeling the flinch went unnoticed.

Well... the orders  _were_  to kill everyone involved.

Who are you?" The gang leader demanded. When I didn't answer right away, the grip on the gun tightened and he stepped forward voice raising. "WHO are you?"

 _Kill him. Kill him. He is a mortal. Kill him._  The voices whispered. I struggled to keep my fingers from moving, irritated to no longer have a weapon to hold. It was always so much easier to focus with my sword. It was an anchor. Without it, my senses slowly became aware, and when that happened, things usually ended up water-logged.

I grit my teeth, skin itching irritably where my empty hand was.

“WHO ARE YOU?”

My jaw clenched, but I stood up straighter as if we were all just a group of gentlemen prepared to talk it out. I held my hands out to convey some sort of trustworthiness, but my black gloves seemed to shine almost ominously in the lights.

“Now, I know is a little inconvenient,  _but,_ " I grabbed the gun of the closest guy, twisting it to the side just as the trigger was pulled so the bullet hit the goon across us. Whirling around, I knocked the other guy’s gun away with my wrist while pulling the leader in front of me and shoving him at his lackey – both hit the floor in a piled heap.

The goon I shot was holding his side with one hand, but with the other, he had his gun aimed at my chest. “Motherfu-“

“Watch that language, young man!” I gasped, diving for my sword. “Let’s keep it PG, yeah?” Bullets chased after my heels when I rolled back up on my feet. Coming up by him, I swung my sword in a quick arch toward his head, instinctively, the guy cringed and raised his gun hand over his head to "protect" himself, but ended up yelping in a very unmanly way when the sword passed through him. I wondered, again, what he was seeing through the mist. Did I just look incompetent? Did I simply miss? Either way, the fact that celestial bronze couldn't harm mortals really just put a damper on my plans.

He went to aim the gun nozzle back over my chest, but I tossed my sword into the other hand and thrust up with an open palm. The bottom of my hand connected with the guy's nose, earning myself a loud  _CRACK_  as the guys head kicked back. He didn't fall, I could credit him that much. Almost instantly, though, he doubled over cradling his nose as blood seeped between his fingers, almost as bad as it was coming from his side. Before he could attempt to re-orient himself, I dropped to my hands and swept his legs out from under him. When his head collided with the floor, I knew he was out.

Before I could do any happy dance, a pair of strong hands were grabbing my arms and wrenching them back. Wasting no time, the gang leader hit me with a punch in the jaw, then a sock in the gut, then in the jaw again. Before he could go for a fourth hit, I leaned back into the arms of the guy holding me and kicked the leader in the chest, landing safely on the goon when the force caused the both of us to tumble. With the wind knocked out of him, I rolled out of his unlovingly tough embrace and snatched the gun dropped by the unconscious lackey nearby. The goon looked up to the barrel of a gun.

**BANG!**

And that was one less mortal to worry about.

I turned to the gang leader just as another shot exploded in the warehouse. I barely managed to twist to the side, but the bullet grazed past my shoulder nonetheless. Grunting, I aligned my own shot.

**BANG!**

A bodily thump followed. I looked down at the unconscious goon on the floor, blood now caked his lips and jaw due to the nosebleed, while a puddle of it also stained the floor from the shot-wound. Hissing sympathetically, I strode over to him. The gun nozzle centered over his heart.

_YES! Kill him! Kill him! He is nothing! He is insignificant! Kill him!_

"I'm not killing him because he's a mortal," I hissed at the voices, clenching the gun hilt. "My orders were no survivors. That's all!"

_KILL HIM! KILL HIM! Do it! Finish him off!_

Teeth gritting, I knelt down next to the unconscious guy. "Well," I told him, putting the tip to his head. "at least your's didn't wake up a goddess."

**BANG!**

I brushed my pants off as I got back up, just as the two other watch-guards turned the corner.

"Oh, so now you decide to join us," I accused and aimed the gun again.

* * *

 

By the time I made it outside, the van and small leader were long gone.

 _"Di immortals!_ " I cursed, shoving my sword back in its sheath on my back. I crouched with a huff near the ground where black tire marks scorched the asphalt where the van had taken off. " _Γιος ενός κομματιού μινωταύρου κοπριάς!"_

The guy probably heard the commotion in the warehouse and split as fast as he could. If I hadn't wasted so much time on that gang, I probably could've gotten here sooner.

What did that guy want with herbicides anyway? The common gardener didn't usually buy it from gangs or have Cyclop guards at their disposal. Well, unless they had incredibly destructive, mutant, killer weeds in their garden. With a sigh, I got back to my feet. Off in the distant, and rapidly getting closer, sirens were wailing. Someone probably heard the shots from the warehouse and called the authorities, which meant it was time for me to leave too.

There was nothing for me in the warehouse, so I instead strode across the cement and ducked behind a low alleyway to grab a duffel hidden beneath a pile of garbage bags. I took out a thick hoodie, as I pulled my mask off and unhooked the leather strap that held the sheath to my back and settled both into the bag. The sirens were closer. As soon as I pulled on the hoodie and the duffel was swung over my shoulder, I stood up and peaked out of the alley. It was still cloudy out, just as dark as before, aside from a small building complex across the street where an anxious face was casting yellow light on the sidewalk, as they peaked out pass their curtains, eyes trained on the warehouse.

There was the tattle-tell.

Ah, but that didn't matter. I finished the job. There would be no more killing by my hands tonight. Hefting the duffel bag, I pulled the hood down over my face and made sure to duck into the shadows as I walked out of the alleyway, sticking as close to the wall as I could without hugging it. Thankfully, the tattle was too concerned with the distant sound of the authorities to pay much attention to the alley far up the road.

But even so, I didn't want to be close by when the police arrived. I turned the street as soon as I could, and didn't look back. I kept a leisure pace two blocks up before stopping by the garage where I stashed my motorcycle. By now the cops had probably swarmed the scene and would start looking for abnormal activity, so I made quick work of hooking the duffel to the back, before swinging over the seat and starting up the engine.

By the time I was driving through the streets, the police sirens were nothing but background noise. Soon enough, I found myself back into the more populated streets of the city as I drove through its heart. There was nothing the authorities could link to bring me to their attention - I was in the clear.

But even if I was safe from the mortal authorities, that did little to ease the tension in my shoulders. If I was out in the open, that meant I was being watched. I was always being watched. The sooner I got back to my seclusion, the better. The traffic light flashed red in front of me, and I eased into a stop with my fellow drivers. My fingers tapped impatiently on the handlebars as I counted the seconds of the red light, finding dull comfort in the rumbling purr of the engine beneath me. I got to 12 seconds when the clouds above suddenly parted to make room for the moon. The lights of the city made up for its lack of show and easily overpowered any light it cast, but that did little to stop the rays from becoming a prickling weight on my back. Moonbeams stared inquisitively at me from the sheen of metal on the car in front of me, and glared off the car next to me, and burned into the back of my head, and I scowled. I could practically feel eyes staring holes into my very soul.

The light turned green and I wasted no time in pushing off down the street, fingers gripping the handles.

The moon kept watch on me all the while.

* * *

 

I slammed the door to my apartment shut and dropped the duffel on the cool hardwood floor.  Stomping past the small entry, I quickly shed my layers of clothing on the ground, stopping just bare of my underwear, but even then I contemplated losing those too. My skin burned, and itched, and flashed with aches and pains. As predicted, my head throbbed from the earlier exertion of the voices. Grimacing, I stopped short of the doorway to the kitchen to lean against its frame and ran a hand roughly over my neck, cringing when it felt like rubbing rough sandpaper over an open wound. A patch of scars had opened on my left leg and abdomen and was now leaking blood onto the floor, while trails of green poison were slowly climbing their way past my palm and up my arm. Was the probably the Pit Scorpion venom again. But as much as a nuisance it was, I forced myself to step forward and into the kitchen when the first rumbling pangs of hunger griped at me from the stomach.

Fingers twitching, I yanked the door to fridge open and did a quick glance over. Leftover take-out boxes and containers greeted me. Interested, I took out the box of left-over pizza and a glass plate to heat it up on. But as I went to put it in the microwave, a fiery cascade of raw pain erupted in my hand and I immediately dropped the plate to clutch my fingers to my chest with a gasp. The skin was hot to the touch and already forming pockets up puss-blisters that bubbled to the surface and popped; the tips of my fingers were pink but rapidly moving to red. With a bloodied curse on my lips, I lunged for the sink, twisted the cold-knob, and thrust my hand under the water. The touch was instantly soothing. I sighed, muscles relaxing on their own accord as I all but slumped against the counter, keeping my weight up only with the barest of strength from my legs and elbows. Pressing skin so close to another surface made it flare up in irritation, and the cuts on my abdomen bled faster, but I ignored it for the comfort of my hand.

At least it didn't happen while I was out on the job. 

I managed to keep my position for several more minutes before the pain grew too much for even the filtered city water to handle. I stayed put for just a little longer, before biting my lip and turning the water off. Like flicking on a switch, the pain licked back up my hand like a fiery, sandpaper tongue. Holding it to my stomach, I hurried to my room and into the master bath, where I kicked open the cabinet and brought out the medical kit stored beneath the sink. With my poisoned hand, I opened the box and pulled out a container of burn gel and gauze. By now, the skin had sweltered to a red, most beginning to char black; the smell of burning flesh was strong in the little space. I opened the container with my mouth and spread of big glob over the festering flesh. It did little to soothe the pain.

Even so, I continued adding it layer after layer till most was gone, before wrapping it securely with the gauze. Once finished, I sat back against the glass shower shakily, tipping my head back to rest on the surface, with my wrapped hand pressed close to my chest. The burning had spread up my shoulder but stopped short of my collarbone. But that was just one piece of my otherwise jigsawed body. Somewhere in my chest, it felt like a rod of hot iron was forcing a path through my ribs, while in my palm the scorpion venom was making steady progress through my veins. To be honest, I was surprised I hadn't gone under yet. It didn't usually take long for the pain to completely zonk me out. Maybe I was getting used to it.

How depressing.

Past the flaring abnormalities of my current wounds, I could feel the regular prickling, itching, rash-like burn of my skin, mostly where it was in contact with the floor and glass wall. I took deep breaths to try and ease my rapid heart.

A small wave of exhaustion swept me and I closed my eyes, unable to help but wonder what this one had been about. A telkine burnt to death in St. Helens volcano? Or maybe a monster fatally injured in the explosion aboard the Princess Andromeda. I wasn't sure, but whatever it was, it had certainly been fire-related - or at least something extremely hot. Speaking of injured, I was going to have to restock on medical supplies soon. Mortal medication hardly worked, but it was all I had left to work with. It helped soothe some of the aches and bumps, I guess... _sometimes_. 

Opening my eyes, I stared up at the ceiling for a few minutes to gather enough strength to get up. The box of medical supplies had spilled a little off the counter in my rush, and with a sigh, I shakily scooped up the extra gauzes and bandages and put them back where they belonged. I closed the box and nudged the cabinet doors wider. But before I put it back, my eyes went to the wall above the sink, where I always looked when I entered the bathroom. The wall was blank, absent from the mirror that was supposed to be there. Its remnants were probably in some dump by now from when I had thrown it out months ago. But even with it gone, I could still feel the bitter rush of the anger left when I thought back to when I first got the apartment. The fury and sorrow and self-hate branding me from the inside out as I slammed my fist into that mirror, letting it crack and break and fall apart. How, even after that, I had ripped it from its place and thrown it across the little bathroom to snap into pieces against the wall. There was still a nick in the paint where the edge had cut it.

Jaw clenching, I shoved the medical box back under the cabinet and quickly left the bathroom. After hobbling back into the kitchen, I picked the pizza up off the ground and stepped over the broken plate and I reached for a new one. I’d picked up the mess after I’ve eaten. Gingerly leaning against the counter, I cradled my bandaged hand as I waited for my dinner to warm. The pain hadn’t ebbed any, but I was becoming accustomed to the raw, searing sensations rolling around under my skin. Staring at the wall, I tried to keep my mind off my condition. But the walls were gray and blank, with hardly a nick to catch my eye. It was like staring at the sun and waiting for it to rain; unlikely and pointless. Sighing, I glanced down at the counter and instantly found something to occupy my mind.

The picture was worn, weathered, and curling in on itself from age, and half hidden beneath a bill I tossed on the counter this morning. I almost forgot I had left it there, but scowled – it was supposed to be in my room. I brought the picture out in the open, unable to keep my eyes off it now that it was found. While the colors were faded, I could see the image as clearly as the day I had first gotten it. It was from the time Annabeth had taken a vacation to Washington D.C. She was standing in front of the Lincoln Memorial, with her arms folded proudly across her chest, curly blonde hair pulled back with a bandanna, and a bright, pleased smile lighting up her face. She looked younger, probably around 14 back then.

I was smiling before I knew it, recalling the way her eyes always lit up when she talked about architecture. Never understood a thing she said, but it was worth it to see somewhat of a childish, hyperactive excitement in her that most people weren't lucky enough to witness. It reminded me at times, that she may be smarter than everyone, but she was still a hyperactive kid with ADHD, just like the rest of us. But even as blooms of affection and love reopened, along with it came the thorny spikes of remorse and longing. How long has it been since I've seen her? How was she holding up? Has she moved on yet...

I softly set the picture back down, hugging my stomach pitifully as I turned away. Sometimes I wonder why I even brought the picture. All it ever does is make it hurt worse, and gives me remorse, and pain, and big, gaping hole in my chest that never went away. I could say it was also because it gave me determination and strength, and enough remaining sanity to go on, instead of wallowing in self-deprecating pity for the rest of my known life.

But, honestly, I just loved looking at her smile.

The microwave beeped, and I snapped back around, leaving my thoughts in whiplash. The aroma of melted cheese and pepperoni peaked the interest of my stomach again, and I quickly brought my meal back out. But when I closed the microwave, through the tinted glass I could make out a face. A marred face. Layered with overlapping scars and bumps and open gashes. Limp, stringy tufts of black hair leaned weakly over my forehead, with hardly enough energy to look healthy, no matter how many times I washed and cared for it. I looked into darkened eyes, one squinted from the giant bump swollen just above the eyelid, and the other twitching obnoxious as if juiced with adrenaline. I stared into those eyes for 1...2...3...5..7 seconds before I had to look away. My eyes fell down, where they landed on my hands. One wrapped in a gauze and the other textured with scars and colored black and green from the poison lingering there. My hands clenched, and I took a deep breath.

There was a reason I can't go back, and it was as loud and clear as every bump or cut lacerating my skin. I was no longer fit for Camp Half-Blood. I was no longer fit for Annabeth.

I have a job to finish.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not a Camp-and-company-abandoning-and-betraying-Percy fic. There is more to it than that.
> 
> Thanks for reading. Updates coming.
> 
> Γιος ενός κομματιού μινωταύρου κοπριάς: Son of a piece of minotaur dung! (used google translate - do not trust my Greek words)


	3. Seeking Out

[Annabeth POV]

_45 minutes into the class and the heat is going to kill me._

Sweat dripped down my temple, and I tighten my grip on my sword's hilt as I take a careful step forward. The cool afternoon breeze sweeps a few stray strands of hair over my cheeks, but however irritating they are, they're easily ignored as I take our resting moment to re-map the territory.

Outside of the arena, the leaves of the oak tree's sway in a low, rustling murmur, while out in the distance the sounds of demigod activity coming in as a clinking, shouting buzz. I honed my attention to the  _inside_ of the arena, where it's just me and  _him._

Off to the side, the group of spectators murmur lightly, some placing bets, and others predicting the outcome. The smell of upturned dust, musty leather, and oiled blades sharpen my senses, and I can hear the brush of his feet in the dirt.  _He's getting better at his footwork_ , I muse, shifting the drakon-bone sword into my other hand to turn sideways and step. My sword-arm turns outward and listen. Over the tiding murmur, I can hear breathing close by. It's silent and through the nose, but it's been a hot afternoon and I've been giving him quite the workout.

Sword-point angling, I aim for his chest and shift my weight. Going onto offense would be easy, but he'll probably expect this time. Defense would probably be my best bet, but that means I'll have to give him a reason to strike. Offense, and  _then_ turn-over to defense so he'd give up his first move. I refrain from smiling by darting forward and jabbing my sword to where his chest would be. As predicted, he deflects the attack off the side of his blade, and using the momentum, I twisted, throw my sword in the air, and turn in the opposite direction where he's unprotected. Catching my sword in my other hand, I rush forward and his backing footsteps clamor across the dirt, kicking up more dust.

I bring my sword down, but he manages to block it. Jumping back, I barely give him enough time to breathe be lunging back in and our swords hit. Again and again, my instincts take over and we parry our strikes and deflect blows. He's breathing harder now.

A drop of sweat runs down my forehead and hovers over my eye. Despite myself, I grimace, and he takes my moment of discomfort to strike. Grunting, I parry his sudden onslaught, stepping back to get a little more room, but he follows.

 _He's trying to corner me into the wall_ , I realize. It would be easy to immobilized an opponent backed up like that. This time I do smile.  _Clever boy, but I need a way out of it._

What do you do when you need a way out? Do the unexpected. Shouting, I rush at him and hold my sword up just as he comes down so we're locked in an X.

"Bad move," he mutters under his breath.

I smile back, "Was it?" Heaving, I force him back, just slightly, then let go of my sword and drop to my hands and feet, kicking his legs clean out from under him. He lands with a rough " _OOMPH!"_ and I clamor for my weapon.

The leather bindings of his practice-armor squeak and groan as he quickly grabs for his sword too. My fingers find the hilt and I instantly lunged at him. His sword scraps lightly across the ground as he raises it to defend himself, but he's too slow. I'm on him in an instant, and with a small calculated jab to the radial nerve in his upper arm, his sword drops from his hand by the time mine is pressed tight against his throat.

Ji Soo swallows hard and I smile, "Annnnd, dead."

"Honestly, Annabeth," he groans, tapping out. " _Every_ time. How?"

Behind me, the group of spectators cheer as I pull myself up and offer a hand to my sparring partner. Ji Soo huffs, just a little, but takes it anyway. Brushing the dust I imagine is on my pants, I lightly heft my sword on my shoulder and look toward my class.

"Alrighty, let's see who was paying attenton. Can anyone tell me what Ji Soo did wrong?"

"Um, he  _fought_ you." A voice answers and the class laughs.

Near me, Ji Soo huffs again, more sourly, and stuffs his sword back in its scabbard. I give him a gentle pat and turn to the class with an unimpressed frown.

"For the record, Ji Soo did  _very_ well considering this is only his 2nd summer. Would anyone else liked to have taken his place?"

Silence.

"That's what I thought. Now, what he  _really_ did wrong, was that he was too uniform. It's good to keep a process and use the tactics you're taught, but it's also important to keep your opponents guessing. If you too by the book, your attacks will be easily manuevered and all you're opponent has to do it guess where your next attack will be and  _bam,_ you're helping the monster to a free dinner.  _But_ , if you mix it up and do the unexpected, like, say, dropping you're weapon and knocking them down, your opponent will be thrown off their game and you'll have the advantage. However," I stare at them, dead center, "It must be a  _calculated_ risk, so don't be reckless. Doing the unexpected it good, but not when it puts you or any of the demigods you're near at risk."

"Annabeth?" Morgon, a 13-year-old son of Ares calls. "Um, how - how did you get so good at fighting? I mean, isn't hard since you're-" I hear someone jab him and whisper harshly, "er - I - I mean, sorry. I didn't -"

"Since I'm blind?" I finish for him, "No, it's okay Morgon." I forgot that this was his first summer. More than that, it was his first day at Sword Fighting class. The last few days have been kind of hectic with getting the new campers settled, so he probably didn't hear any of the stories about the war 3 years ago. Which actually reminded me to ask Will, or one of his siblings, to tell some at the Campfire tonight so we can get all the newbies covered in one go. I'd prefer not to spend half of my classes explaining why a blind child of Athena can sword-fight.

"Well, blind or not, practice is how you get good at something, even if that something is sword fighting," I tell him. I try to keep it light and breezy, but it feels awkward, and judging by the sound of silence, I'd say they felt it too. Why couldn't I go into a conversation without someone asking about my eyes? Why, newbies, why?

"I think we'll stop there for today," I decide, sheathing my sword. Touching the top of the watch on my wrist, I feel for the bumpy numbers shifting beneath my fingertips. Yep, class was basically over anyway. Thank you, Leo. The watch was a smooth leather band with a thin, recantgular plate on top, made of celestial bronze. The time was embossed into the metal, and through some intense Hephaestus-inherited skill, the numbers counted down with the time in both greek numbers and english numbers. According to the time, the conch horn was gonna blow in 3 minutes.

"Lacy," I hear my half-sister, and self-dubbed assistant, jump to her feet. "I'm heading out. As soon as you hear the lunch horn, take the class down the Amphitheater."

"You got it Annabeth," she pipes back, and I'm under the illusion that she's saluting. Whether or not she did, I salute back and turn with a whistle. In the corner of the Training Arena, Mrs. O'Leary also jumps to her feet, followed by a loud, obnoxious  _clang._

I sigh. "I thought we talked about you chewing on the shields," I mutter as she comes bounding over. She sniffs at my leather bound practice gear, before deeming it as uneventful as the last time she smelled it, and gives my sweaty forehead a mighty, wet lick.

"AH, Leary!" I gag and nudge her nose away, wiping off slobber with the other hand. She yips innocently, sounding absolutely thrilled with devious act, but stays still long enough for me to find the long, leather-bound leash hooked to her collar and the shrunk walking stick tied with it.

"Alright girl," I tell her, wrapping the leash a few times around my hands, "let's head to the Athena cabin. Understand? Athena. Cabin."

Mrs. O'Leary barks a few times, so I figure she understands well enough. Just as we walk out of the Arena, the low sound of the conch horn bellows somewhere over the hill. Behind me, I hear Lily's sharp orders as she starts organizing the campers into lines, and then we're gone.

It's particularly hot today, for the beginning of summer, but it's been a good day no less. In fact, it's been a fairly good year. Ever since Gaia was defeated, it's been - dare I say - actually peaceful. If there was one good thing that came out of  _that_ war, it was the absence of monster attacks. Well, there's saving all mankind too, I guess. That was definitely a plus.

Smiling, inhaling deeply, the scent of the strawberry groves and oiled steel stands out most among the camp, but, somewhere to the left, the smell of grilled meat rides the wind and chases away the other two. Smells good, but all I really needed was a cold glass of water and, maybe, a cluster of grapes - if Mr. D wasn't feeling stingy enough to share.

Mrs. O'Leary, despite her peppy attitude, manages to keep to her traing, and we descend down a small hill, down onto the well-worn grounds surrounding the cabins with no accidents. Loud steps pass me as counselors and satyrs lead groups of demigods toward the Amphitheater. A few yell out a quick hello, and I wave in their general direction.

Someone runs up to me. "Annabeth, aren't you coming to lunch?" Malcolm asks, slightly out of breath, but I shake my head.

"Nah, I'm good. But if you wouldn't mind sending Aaron up with some grapes, I'd love you forever."

He chuckles, but it dries fast. "Are you...are you going back to the cabin to plan again?"

Just like that, my smiles disappear and I turn away from him, feeling the high tension of an impending argument. The same one we've been having for weeks now. "Tell Chiron that I'm in my workshop," is what I say, deciding that I don't want to get into it now, and gently pat Mrs. O'Leary's side so we can keep going. I expect him to argue, but all I hear from Malcolm is a hard breath through his nose before he's gone.

By then, most of the groups have left, and those that straggled behind were husting away under the afflictions of hunger. Mrs. O'Leary and I pass different cabins, and I inhale deeply again, picking up the ever-present hum from the Hephaestus cabin, low and deep like an immense machine that was constantly running. Sweet perfume wafted from the Aphrodite cabin, flowers from the Demeter, leather and sword oil from Ares, calming incense from Hypnos, and grapes from Dionysus. More smells bombared my senses, and while it could be homey and familiar, today, combined with the heat, it was head-ache inducing.

By memory, I knew the Athena cabin was coming up, and I trusted Mrs. O'Leary to get me there, but we both stopped as a breeze trifled across the open space, carrying with it the scent of the ocean. I paused, looking to the other side, feeling the painful stirring of memories. I haven't been to the beach in a while. Maybe sometime later I coud...

 _No,_ I tell myself and take another step toward my destination. Now's not the time for 'maybe later'. I have other things to do. Important things.

But, now that it was there, the scent was stuck in my head. Saltwater, seaweed, the fresh tinge to the air, all of it so,  _so_ painfully familiar I was tempted to stick my head into the Ares cabin just to get rid of it. But another part of me turns toward it wistfully, and, despite the months it took me to stop following the smell, I changedirection and heade toward the source. Mrs. O'Leary doesn't question my new decision, and changes course happily. She stays close to my side, however, just as Nico and I had trained her to do. It had taken weeks to train her to guide me through camp, and a lot of accidental trips to the Underworld before she realized that shadow-travel is not what I meant when I said 'To the Hades Cabin'. But once she got the hang of it, she picked it up quickly, and I wasn't resorted to stumbling around camp on someone's arms. Listening to her happy breaths, I'd admit that the last few years would've been tough without her.

However, her the excited jump in her steps dulls and she stopped us in front of our new destination with a soft whine.

"I know," I say, patting her immense sides. "I know." The smell is stronger now, so strong that and I can almost feel the spray of the ocean fountain inside. I feel my way along the steps, for the doorknob, and then I walk inside. Behind me, Mrs. O'Leary follows as far as she can but gets stuck at the door. She whines again and plops down on the deck.

"Hey, that's a good girl," I tell her, rubbing her ears comfortingly, and she licks lightly at my hand. "I know, it's not fair that you can't come in. Maybe I'll ask Leo to make the door bigger." Her tail thumps heavily on the steps, and I smile, giving her another heartfelt rub.

Back on my feet, I move around the empty bedposts and lockers, to the bed in the far corner. The fountain is nearby, the  _still_ running water giving off a pleasant gurgle that sends a misty chill in the air that is Elysium compared to the heat outside. I sit on the bed, fingers knitting together, trying to figure out why I had come in here in the first place. It's been weeks since my last visit, and I was trying for a new record.

As much as I don't want to be in here, another part preens happily at the feeling of being close to him again. But the familiarity of the smell is enough to send nostalgic aches through my chest, and I wish it didn't hurt so much to be in here. Maybe if it didn't hurt, I'd stop by more. Maybe if I didn't want to cry, wring his neck, and going on a frenzy monster attack every time I stepped through that door, I'd come in here.

 _Then why do you keep doing it?_ A pestering thought asks, and I'm not sure how to answer it. Why do I keep coming in here? Sitting on his bed won't make him come back. Staring at nothing, wishing he'd come walking through that door as he asks why I'm in his room, cause, 'C'mon Wisegirl, I thought there were rules', with that snarky tone of his, wasn't going to make him appear on the bed. It wouldn't happen, even if I prayed to the gods, begging that maybe -  _please -_ just bring him back.

Right, because the gods actually listened to us. Arms curling around my stomach, I lift my leg up on the bed and for a few minutes, I stare at nothing, playing with a fraying edge to the blanket under my feet. When I accidentally pick a string from the blanket, I drop the fabric and reach for the minotaur horn on the nightstand. Still where I left it since the last time I was in here. My fingers brush the dust off as they run over the smooth arc of the horn, to the rough edges where it had broken off, to the dulled point at the top. I recall the night he'd first came into camp, clutching this horn so tightly that I didn't think Chiron could make him let go. He looked so much smaller then, shorter than even  _me_ , and so - so pained. Sopping wet, hair falling in his eyes, the rain had washed away his tears but I saw the distress and anguish in his eyes. A distress I'd seen so many times in my own eyes, it Lukes eyes, in Thalia's eyes, that it dragged me back to the weeks of living on the streets.

I'll admit, I was angry that he managed to get such a reaction out of me when I didn't even  _know_ him. But getting to know him after had all been worth it. Yes, he had been an annoying prick, but he was also sweet and in his own way. Suddenly charming at one point. I don't even know when  _that_ happened. One day his comments are plain irritating, then the next all I can do was laugh with him. Where did  _those_ days go?

 _Oh, but what am I doing?_ Scowling, I roughly set the horn back on the nightstand, feeling foolish. I shouldn't be in here reminiscing, I need to be in my cabin, planning, working, and doing the one thing that might  _actually_ bring him back. Sniffing, I angrily wipe the few tears lingering in my eyes and stand up. Using my walking stick, I march my way across the floor and out the door. Mrs. O'Leary gets up too and patiently lets me grapple for the leash.

I sniff again, and her nose probes my face with a small keen. "No, no I'm okay," I reassure her with a watery smile, stopping to pet her muzzle when it pushes to my stomach. "Come on, to the Athena cabin,"

She gives me another worrying nudge, before leading us away. We stop by our real destination this time, and I give her another loving stroke, before opening the door. Her claws click against the rocks and metal as she disappears into the doghouse behind the cabin. Inside, it smells of ink, new books, and leather, driving away the ocean scent that lingered on my clothes.

Right, it's time to get some real work done. My workshop is an alcove in the room next to the bunks. I drop into the chair and rummage through the brail and Greek embossed pages piled neatly around the small desk. I pull the textured map I'd been studying for the last week closer, pressing my fingers to it, and searching along the ridges and bumps making up the western states. I've studied every map, every supernatural report I could get my hands on of most of the states. The western states were unlikely. Maybe he went there first, but it was hotter there, and California wouldn't have been an option for him, not with Camp Jupiter so close by. He wouldn't be too close to New York yet either, but it's been years, so he was bound to migrate closer.

Eastern states. He had to be somewhere in the Eastern states.

"I'm going to find you, Percy," I whisper, "For the last  _Hades-forsaken_ time in my life, I  _am_  going to find you."

Whether you want me to, or not.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a prolonged wait. That wasn't my intention. But here is this! Enjoy some determined and blind Annabeth!


	4. Phantom Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER WARNING: This chapter contains painful injury descriptions and suicidal thoughts. Read at your own risk. I don't want any of you lovelies getting triggered.

 

* * *

Percy POV

Sleeping was hell.

It was bad enough that demigod dreams usually ended in nightmare and hysteria, but add in the blankets that felt woven out of barbed wire and the way his skin tingled acidicly when contact was made, and it was impossible. Still, I tried, from rolling around for comfort to staying as still as one of Medusa's statues, I tried. I really did. But it just wasn't happening. Not tonight, at least.

But the result was hours of writhing on the bed, twisting and shifting to get comfortable when he felt wrapped in pin-needles. By now the poison from the Pit Scorpion was reaching its peak, and by 1 o'clock it reached my heart, leaving me to spasm in seismic panic as my heart threatened to shut down. The burning, inflamed skin of my other arm did nothing to ease the situation either. Black, burnt skin flaked off like layers to a biscuit and the pus pockets popped and seeped into the sheets.

In the rare instance that I could sleep, it wasn't even sleep. It was unconsciousness. Because the pain was too much to handle. But even then, my dreams were filled with thoughts and memories from the past. Things that happened years ago, that still felt too raw to confront now. More than once I woke up in a panicked, cold sweat, relishing in the physical pain of the real world, cause emotional pain hurt too much.

Somewhere about 6' in the morning, the Pit Scorpion venom finally ran its course through and the burns began to fade.

Still didn't get out of bed though. There was something about experiencing mental and physical pain for hours on end that really depleted my will to perform the normal, mediocre tasks of the day. But then again, normal people didn't usually have poison slowly carving a path through their veins. Only instead of killing him, it fades away, leaving only wisps of phantom pain, making room for the next fatal injury standing in line.

Luke just  _had_ to pick a Pit Scorpion. It just  _had_ to be something extravagant and painful. Of course.

The ceiling becomes my subject of interest as the clock next to the bed ticks the morning down, and the feeble sun rays peeking through the curtains crawl across the floor in a mission of espionage. I listen to the music of the city outside, with it's loud, chaotic beat, pulsing like the beat of a creatures heart. But the sound isn't right. Its tune feels off, not quite aligning with the rhythm beating in my own chest.

People didn't realize how different cities sounded. Each one had their own tune, like a theme song, that played day after day. The beeping cars, the buzzing conversations on the streets, the sounds of countless machines and millions of people coinciding in one place - they became the beats, the high-rocking notes, the sloping tunes that made the city. It was a little stereotypical, but Chicago reminded me of a rap song. Its beat was high and steady. It's tune long and fast-paced as the rapper runs off jumbles of words that you're not quite sure belonged in the English language. Or any language, actually.

Chicago was a song I couldn't decipher. Its words were rushed, it was loud, it's opinions open, brash, and in your face. The city felt aggressively bipolar, like it would be your loyal friend one second before pointing a gun at you're chest and demanding your wallet. If it were a person, I imagined it'd have gold rings, chains around its neck, a gun hidden in its pocket, and a nailed-through bat hanging off its shoulder.

It was so different to New York's tune.

Where Chicago was aggressive and loud, New York was strong and insistent. It was still loud, definitely loud, but it's tune didn't carry the same mighty high notes. It had a beat to it, a pulsing rhythm that continued consistently throughout. The song wasn't necessarily all rap and macho, but strong, with thick notes and resounding tunes that rang deep in your bones and reminded you of where exactly you're at. It inspired creation just as much as is inspired challenge. It was a song that never ceased.

I miss it.

The blankets are burning a hole into my back, but I don't feel like turning to mellow out the pain. I'm grateful for it, of anything. The sting draws my attention from the nagging yearning in my chest.

Hypersensitivity is terrible. It's like my skin had its own brand of ADHD, becoming hyper-aware of  _everything_. Even the littlest thing could set it off, which was a real stickler when society expected me to wear  _clothes_  all the time. Sure public decency was important, but even a loose t-shirt feels rugged sandpaper grating my skin raw.

Speaking of skin and pain and all-around suckiness, I needed to restock my medical kit. Pronto. More pills to numb the pain, gauze so I didn't spill blood everywhere, and skin cream - a crap-ton of skin cream.

Have I been paid yet? I emailed my employer the information I gathered just before going to bed. Whoever it was promised an instant check for my efforts, and while the leader dude technically got away, I still got enough intel to inspire thought  _AND_ the trophy heads of everyone else involved. That had to earn me a decent wage.

Groaning, I turned slowly in the bed and grab my work phone next to the alarm clock. Moving, after such a long night of cramped muscles and never-ending seizures, felt like hands grabbing my muscles from opposite ends and ripping them apart tissue by tissue.

It takes only a few minutes to check my work account, and I was pleased to find it paid and full. The money  _is_ decent and will be well spent on restocking my supplies. Maybe I'll invest in a few new work "tools" too.

Spirits feeling a tiny bit lifted, I manage to pry myself out the puss, vomit, and blood-stained bed. Which, ew. Add new bed-sheets to my shopping list. No washing machine could save those blankets at this point.

My first morning priority is the shower. I didn't wear anything to bed, so I hopped right in. Twisting the water completely cold, I grab the body wash sitting on the tub rim and squirt a healthy amount into my palm. Baby body wash, cause it's soft and careful with my skin. I don't normally wash in hot water anymore, the temperature made it feel like taking a shower in the Phlegethon river. Cold is good. It's numb the pain better. Besides, it reminds me more of the ocean.

I wash my stringy hair as well as I can, but it's demeanor is that of soggy straw. I never thought I'd miss having healthy hair. It's never been something I've thought about until now, but  _di immortals_ did I miss have something soft to run my fingers through. Blonde, curly hair was my personal preference, but best not to think of that because it sounded a little weird and sent unhelpful pangs in my chest.

_Don't think about her. Don't think about her. Don't think about her._

I didn't tarry too long in the shower this time, despite my bodies insistence to stay with its natural pain-relevant. I dress in loose-fitting sweatpants, so large I have to pull the string and knot it several times just to keep them up. Going naked was always an option, but, even if it was just in my apartment, even I couldn't stomach my body for long periods of time. It was like I was in the process of decaying before Hades - or whatever god was in charge of the decaying process - decided it just wasn't worth it and denied me a full death.

But at least one thing hasn't changed despite my condition. My hunger. Usually using my water-based powers was the only thing that taxed my energy so immensely, and when it did it also happened to make me extremely hungry. It was the same for constant pain too, I guess. Something about my immune system trying to heal me all the time. Whatever it was, it made my stomach turn in on itself looking for something the gnaw on.

The cupboards in the kitchen are basically empty, and one glance in the fridge gives me insight to a limited stock of pizza, china take-out, some fuzzy, green burritos, and a bottle of hot-sauce. Nothing looks good enough to sate my hunger. Pizza, while still a personal favorite, was getting a little repetitive. The china didn't sound good, and those burritos must've had their own ecosystem at this point.

I grabbed the hot sauce, squirting half the bottle straight in my mouth, hoping that might do something to burn away the hunger. Or at least get it off my back for a bit. Paycheck meant more food, but if I'm going  _outside_ I need to look presentable.

Mouthing burning, eyes watering, I head back into the room to get something suitable to wear. Heavy pants, boots, an over-sized hoodie, and a scarf wrapped tightly around my face later, and I'm ready to go. The fabric feels drenched in acid, and walking feelings like sandpaper chafing my body at once, but at least as much skin is covered as possible.

Grabbing my wallet, I thumb through the few measly bills inside, check to make sure my credit card is there, and head out the door, locking it tightly as I leave. The apartment complex I live in was decent enough. Not terrible, like some of the slums I've been in, but not 5-star either. But it did the trick. The landlord was patient, I never skipped out on rent, so that was a plus for him. My neighbors were partial to their own business and never tried to make much communication, so I was clear in that department too. Besides, after a few awkward first weeks, they stopped coming by and asking what those late-night screams were.

When I get out on the street, it's about high-noon and the crowds are walking fast to escape the sun. Summer's just beginning, which meant Camp recently started too. How many new campers were there? If Annabeth was still there, she was no doubt a senior counselor with her own class to teach. It's been a few years, but I can't imagine that much has changed. I don't try to imagine that it would. It's been a while, but I could still remember the way the strawberries fields smelled. The familiar heat of the climbing wall, the canoe lake, the beach, the fighting arena. The details were there, sharp and in high definition.

Man, I miss that place so much.

This city is not the best substitute, but I suppose it does the job. At least here, where I'm miles away, I can't do any harm. This - this was for the best.

Walking down the street, I keep my head down and stick close to building sides and alleyways, short-cutting through said alleyways when there's an opening, and avoiding crossing the street with crowds as much as possible. A few notice the dark, heavily clothed figure walking behind them and step faster, but I don't blame them. It's hot outside, so why would anyone wear so many layers? I was keenly aware of how suspicious I looked, but it was more for their benefit than mine.

If only they knew.

There's a small little convenience store a few blocks past my apartment. I get there with relative ease, little no complications, and step into the air-conditioned store with a breath of relief when the sun's heat lingers outside the door.

Grabbing a plastic basket stacked near the door, I pull my hastily scribbled list from my pocket and trace down the line. First, the essentials - skin cream. Even if it's the crappy, oily kind with a brand worthy for the store shelves rather than an actual pharmacy. After knocking nearly the entire row into my basket, earning an odd look from an old lady searching through bottles, I turn to essentials numero 2.

Food. Real food.

If one can consider heat-ables and pre-cooked dinners real food. But it was probably better than eating take out every night. Besides, buying straight from the store saved me the paranoia of giving someone my current address everytime I ordered fast-food. I've had to relocate too many time when they started catching onto my location - they as in monsters and campers alike.

So, several boxed meals and microwavables end up in the cart, and after that, a pack of coke and some water bottles - cause faucet water is terrible. The last thing on my wrinkled list is a few cereal boxes and some milk, a normal  _breakfast_ , before heading to the check out ail.

My shopping spree is brief and quick. Monster attacks have been rather few and far between lately, likely due to the reputation I was building up for myself in the monster world. Or maybe they decided the broken son of Poseidon wasn't worthy of a target anymore - not when he's a monster in his own right. Which wasn't far off. I was practically one of them, at this point. Or maybe my reputation preceded me, and they knew there was no point in killing an unkillable demigod war veteran.

Wow. I kind of am a war veteran, aren't I? Survivor of two major wars. What a perplexing though.

A war veteran. The title felt better than I was, though. I don't really deserve it. War veteran made me think seasoned soldiers, badges of honor, boundless courage, hearts of gold, battle scars. I had the scars' part, but badges of honor? Boundless courage? A good heart? No. Not me.

But occasional monster attacks weren't the only reason my mediocre visits to the mortal world were brief. Nor was it the chance of getting tattle-telled on my a wondering satyr or nymph.

It was the stares. Everywhere I went, whenever someone could spot the monster underneath the layers, it was the stares. Wide eyes, falling jaws, roaming glances over my face. Awkwardness, skepticism, pity, so many mixed emotions that felt like a hammer repeatedly smashing my face. Or a big neon sign with a bright arrow pointing down at me: Here! Look here!

I remember the stares at school, the way they talked about me behind me back. I was the school rebel, I befriended the "weird" kids, the staff tolerated me at best and considered me a despising burden at worst. There were bound to be stares when the big red words: TROUBLED KID, was practically painted on my back.

But this felt different. It was a different type of look. The things they whispered when I walked past didn't align with the school kids' rumors. They stared, not because of the gossip they overheard, but because of my face. How I tried to cover up. The way I looked.

This felt - this felt a little more personal.

After the first initial weeks experiencing these stares, it didn't take long to inherit a particular fashion sense. Less skin showing as possible was my best option. Staying on the down-low was the goal. Keep those stares, and the way they made my stomach squirm and my shoulders hunch, as far away from me as possible. My self-esteem was already choking on its last fumes, I had to have something to keep me going.

It was hard enough knowing I looked this way every day. I didn't need anyone to remind me.

There are small lines of people waiting by each of the cash registers, so I linger near the aisles, pretending to look over spaghetti sauces and spice packets until there's an opening. Once a register clears up, I quickly stride across the floor and all but claim it by dumping my packed dinners on the rolling belt. The employee working the register jumps a little. He huffs softly, straightens his name-tag with irritated fingers - Gary Darish, it reads - and snatches up the box of hot-pockets to be scanned away. Our interaction is nice and quick, with him keeping his eyes down to scan items and me turning my back to him in an innocently feigned act of looking around the room in impatience.

"Anything else, sir," he drawls, short and bored, after the last box is beeped through, and I shake my head. Trying to turn without looking at him is hard, and I'm not as successful as my skills would lead me to believe. I loop the grocery bags into my arms, quick, but I'm not fast enough. Through my peripheral vision he looks up, and I catch his eye widen, mouth falling slightly - surprised, caught-off-guard. Horrified. Then I look up and his gaze plummets to the black rolling belt, face flushing when he's caught.

"Hav-have a good day," he stutters, purposely tapping at the register, looking over some microscopic problem in the screen. I shoulder the bags and try to ignore my own shroud feel of squirming discomfort. I've never really known what mortals saw through the mist when they looked at me - a burn victim? Someone heavily scarred? A cripple? - but whatever it was liked grabbing peoples attention. The dude's eyes glance between me and the cash register as I grab all my groceries, trying, unsuccessfully, to be sneaky about it. I take one last look at him when all the groceries hang off my arms.

He doesn't look much older than me.

Chiron warned us not to think like this, but a part of me wonders what his life was like and whether or not mine would be like that too if I wasn't born a demigod. What would it be like if I had a normal life? It was negative, destructive thinking. There were courses at Camp dedicated to helping new demigods adjust to their new sudden lives. You couldn't thrust a kid into a world of gods, monsters, constant danger, and fighting for their lives without dangerous repercussions. Yes, the honed senses were explained, and our ADHD felt at home among the Greek and Latin-based camps - but there were still so many questions. So many things to miss about being purely mortal. Going places without fear of being attacked by a monster. Using technology without sending up an invisible flair about your current location. Not having to do quest after quest for ungrateful gods who made messes where ever they stuck their noses.

If I wasn't born a demigod, where would I be right now?

Probably not in some store in Chicago getting worked up over a kid staring at me.

"Thanks," I said, trying not to sound bitter as I feel, and turn away. "You have a good day too."

I wrap the scarf tighter around my face. I don't dare step outside without it. But even then, even without my skin showing, people shoot me with glances. Raised eyebrows. Suspicious frowns.

There were no escaping the looks, no matter what I did.

* * *

 

Disassembling guns is surprisingly therapeutic.

Unclipping them, taking the pieces apart, clicking them back together, oiling the joints and metal to keep it slick and usable. It was a nice way to keep my mind off things and let my fingers do something other than tap against my leg or wring each other's neck.

Cleaning my weapons was probably the brightest part of my day.

After getting my mortal weapons polished - the guns and knives that would actually affect a mortal - I turned my attention to my half-blood tools. Specially made things I've gotten from my supplier. A few small knives, shrapnel grenades made with celestial bronze, hooked daggers, bullets designed to hurt monsters. My two guiltily prized possessions were two swords, one made of celestial bronze and the other of hard steel. Together, with both swords, I could take down mortal and monster alike without worrying about the material of which weapon I grabbed.

My supplier had asked me what I would name them, cause any fine weapon deserved to be consummated with a name that matched. What I didn't tell him was that the first word that popped on my tongue was one that still made chills rattle my spine:  _Backbiter_.

Luke's specially made sword. One side celestial bronze, the other steel. Just thinking of the name and I was thrown back into battle against the sword, hearing its terrible clang against Riptide as we traded blows. I could remember the scarred face wielding the nightmarish weapon, his look of hatred and pity, the snarl he wore because I didn't understand and he had to cut me down because of it.

Backbiter was a weapon that should stay in the past, nor did I want to carry out its legacy. But I couldn't deny its, albeit it, gruesome effectiveness. The ability to cut down monsters and mortal alike, especially in my line of work, was useful. But while I didn't use my two swords to wage war against the gods and mankind, it still left my tongue souring every time I used them. It was a kind of power that could easily turn sadistic if its wielder slips, so I try not to use them as much as possible.

I didn't name the swords.

But they did make me miss  _my_ sword.

Cleaning all my weapons takes a couple of sweet, time-consuming, mind-attracting hours to complete, and I was so disappointed when I was done that I was tempted to clean them all over again. Sometimes when the days were long and there was nothing to do, the voices came back. As if bored with his mediocre lifestyle beyond fighting and killing for money, they'd whisper things in his ears, suggestions.

There were ships in the Chicago waters, what a  _shame_ if something were to go wrong and it sunk. All those poor mortals who couldn't get off in time.

There's a fuse box down in the building basement, something could happen. Explosions happened all the time. The building is old anyway.

That person looked at me funny, perhaps I should show them something to truly fear.

Mortal lives are so fleeting anyway. Might as well spare them the pain of  _actually_ living.

I needed something to do. I have to keep them away.

The wounds my skin takes on only increases the voices affects. My skin prickles, it burns, my insides were cold and broken, then hot and searing, blisters, cuts, blood everywhere. Adrenaline, aggression, energy that needs an outlet.

As if sensing my mental distress, a shooting pain tears through my side. I gasp around the feeling of an arrow shooting through my ribs, likely the same one I shot through Geryon on his ranch. Its phantom point is lodged somewhere deep inside, its shaft splintering and impaling through bone as if they're made of thin ice. Breathing gets harder the more air I try to suck in, and I think I can feel something warm and wet filling up the empty spaces of my lungs, up to my throat. Drowning me.

The clashing panic of choking on blood and impaired breathing spur my legs to stand.

When I try, one knee buckle as a new pain climbs up my thigh like fiery poison. I collapse immediately, coughing out invisible blood, and all feeling of my knee on down vanishes. As if not there at all. I think of an ax and water beds.

"Damn you to Tartarus, Crusty," I choke, one arm holding my thigh where raw, rugged pain is hammering my upper leg, while the other swings over my ribs as if to appease its pain with pressure.

For several minutes, I can't move. I don't even dare an attempt. But after hour-long minutes, the pain makes no hint toward ebbing, and there's no point in curling into a whimpered hamster ball waiting for it to go away. Found out real quick that that did no good.

Barring myself, I take a deep breath, clench my eyes, grit my teeth, and push up to my feet. My body is screaming in all its reproach, but I gird past it and stumble my way toward the bathroom on one functioning leg. But only a few feet away from my destination my other leg goes out - a late bloomer, I suppose - but identical in its pain to its opposite.

" _Damn you_ , Crusty,"

I can't walk. My body is convinced both legs have been cut short, and with the pain ripping up from the should-be stumps, I'm prepared to believe it too. I can almost feel real blood seeping out from the skin, staining the wood-floor under me. My muscles seize, and my ribs are consumed in a wild-fire. Sucking in a weak, raspy breath, I resort to crawling forward, bit by bit. I nudge the door open with my head and keep crawling. My breaths come out scratchy and hoarse, my body slumped and rigid. I probably look like an extra from a zombie film.

I get to the tub and don't even wait to take off my clothes as I pull myself in and turn the knobs. Both of them, hot and cold. Water comes gushing out of the faucet and splashes my front in the first few, sweet,  _sweet_ relieving drops. Slumping against the tub edge, I melt into the side as it begins to fill. Once reaching my legs, the pain gets watery and thin.

My head clears from the poisonous fog shrouding it. Breathing is a little easier. My arm still clings to my side, but the other lays peacefully under the running water. I suck in deep pockets of air, filling my lungs to drive our the ache setting up home.

How did I survive three years like this? Why can't it just end? Why can't I end it? I've tried everything. Bullets were useless. Blades didn't nothing. Not even cold hard concrete from hundreds of feet below seemed to do the trick. I was indestructible to all outside forces, subject only to the pain my body could re-invent. Pain and injuries that didn't even belong to me. Stuck with tormentors in my head that drove me to try new things, cause you never know, one might  _work_.

And I hate how that thought, even after all this hellish living, scared me. What if one of these times it did work. I want it to. Gods of Olympus, did I want it to. There was only one thing I wanted more than to finally end all this agony.

Annabeth.

"I wa-want Annabeth..."

So much agony, because I can't have her either. The sob pushes on my ribs and brings the pain back to life. The tears burn, but they're familiar and habitual. I can't care anymore. My body shakes, and I feel as though my bones are cracking and popping from their joints. I bring my knees to my chest, wrap my arms around them to hold them in place, and cry into the space between. I feel small in my tiny, bathtub corner. Too small to mean a thing.

I want Camp back. I want my friends back. I want my mom. And Paul. And Chiron. And Blackjack. And my cabin. And Riptide. And Annabeth. I want my Annabeth.

I want...

I want...

I...want...

I...

_I'm dying. I have to be dying. I can feel the pain before I open my eyes, before I've even risen out of unconsciousness._

_It harsh, and punishing and_ everywhere.  _Not an inch of me is spared. Every nerve is being pushed beyond its limits. My inside are under siege, falling pitifully against the rolling army that seems to be tearing me up inside. My liver is shredded. My ribs are crumbling. My veins bursting. My skin cracking. There's acid in my throat, and it's burning up toward my tongue, and my eyes, and my head. I - I can't think._

_A wave roars in my ear, and I hear someone screaming. The sound of a dying animal begging to be put down. I can hear its words, sobbing, crying._

_"Make it stop! Please make it stop! Gods, it hurts! PLEASE!"_

_My lips are moving. Somewhere in the back of my head, I register that I'm the one screaming._

_Someone new appears, but my eyes are so blurred with tears I can't make out who it is. They're saying something, but I can't hear past my own screams. I can feel water on me, around me, but it's not doing anything. Why isn't it healing me? Why am I still in so much PAIN?_

_I need to go. I need to stop this. Please, the water isn't helping. PLease, please, PLEASE! Someone pushed me down when I try to rise and the contact feels like thousands of white-hot needles sinking into my skin. The water reacts before I can react to the touch, and the person hits the far wall with a splash._

_"CHIRON!" the person resorts to yelling. "I NEED HELP IN HERE! HE'S NOT SETTLING DOWN!"_

_Clopping noises outside, my sense sky-rocket and everything little thing stands out. My eyes clear, slightly, past the blur. I'm in a bathroom. I'm in a bathtub. The rustling of the bath curtain is sharp and grating, the familiar soaked boy on the ground is breathing hard and it feels like someone is hammering nails into my ears._

_The door opens and someone wheels inside. A noise from a room outside filters in. It's in pain too. But its pain is different. It's hollow and grieving, shrieking and suffering. It's familiar too and makes my heart bleed._

_"PERCY!" It's tormented cries scream, choked sobs and a scratched voice. "WHERE ARE YOU? WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME? PERCY? PERCY?!"_ it breaks off into anguished sobs. "WHY DID YOU LEAVE? PLEASE COME BACK! PLEASE-"  _the door closes and cuts it off._

_"Percy," I see brown hair, kind, concerned eyes. "Percy, my boy, can you hear me?"_

_"Hurts-" I scramble out. "Chi-Chiron. It's hurt! Everything - everthing - I can't," I break off into fumbling sobs, "Please - please."_

_"I know, I know," he says, leaning down. "We're gonna help. I promise we're gonna help. Will, get some more nectar and ambrosia. Hurry!"_

_"We're - we're getting low on supply, Chiron. Demigods are still coming in. I - I don't think we'll have enough for them and him."_

_"Then - then get some more water. We have to do everything we can."_

_The door opens again._

_"WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME? WHERE DID YOU GO? I DIDN'T - I - PLEASE! PERCY!? PERCY, PLEASE COME BACK!?-"_

 

I jerk up in the water, panic grasping my throat and wringing my neck to wake me up. I gasp and fuse myself to the tub, squeezing the sides so hard my knuckles are white. The water splashes and rolls along my body and tub walls, inundating both with small waves that splash over the side and onto the floor.

I shake my head, trying to loosen her voice where it's still shrewdly pinned into my brain. Her screams. Thinking I had abandoned her when I had only been across the hall. The water is still going and I turn it off, running a hard hand over my face to scrub away all remnants of ghastly sleep.

The pain from early had dulled.

So why did my heart still hurt?

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Percy Jackson, the Heroes of Olympus Series, or the Trials of Apollo Series. I do not make any money off of this, I am writing this for fun


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